The Reporter and The Photographer

III

Abigale

The nerve of that ginger headed pipsqueak! Even though he's taller than me... It's still a good insult! I can't believe that I am still treated like a helpless child. It's not fair! And to make matters worse the only camera I own is gone. I remember the day my Father gave it to me...

I was sitting in the mud, I love they way it felt against my fingers. The cold ,soft, gritty feeling was the best to me. I knew mama would be mad like she always is when I ruin clothes, but at least these aren't my church clothes. It was three months since my 12th birthday.

Eight months later father died of a heat stroke, I recalled.

I heard my father come back form town. He rode horse back, because we were to poor to afford a car. His face was so worn and his eyes were always tired, but a smile never left his face. That day I remember it was especially bright. "Happy birthday, darling. I know it's late but I've been saving up for it." He said looking down at me. He handed me a brown satchel. I opened it up to see a brand new camera. Normally I would just sketch in the dirt what I saw, but now I could save it. "Now your gonna have to earn the money to get those pictures devolved, so don't be using the camera all willy-nilly." He warned me.

"Yes sir." I nodded. Then I took the camera out of the bag. I held it with my small callused hands. It felt a lot better than the mud. It was new, shiny and cleaner! "Hold still!" I told my dad and snapped the photograph.

I know hold that picture in my hand. It was crinkled as it is almost eight years old. He look somewhat unaware, there was glare in the photo, and the angle was off. I could do a much better job now. I look at a photo of my family before I had move to New York. That photo was perfect. There was little Johnny who was six, and Opal who was 13. There was a great difference in all of the kids. Almost five to seven years. I miss them dearly, well maybe not my mother. I was never good enough for her. She always treated me differently. I never knew why though.

I most likely never will. I'm not going back to that hell hole! Never in a hundred years. Things might be slightly different if father was here... I have changed so much in the past two years; I don't think I could go back.

Suddenly the phone ,I had just managed to get working, rang. Who could be calling at a time like this?

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Author's note: Sorry it was so short. I wrote this right before I went to bed so it's not the best. Don't worry I will do better next time.

I'm also planing something BIG for this story, so keep that in mind.